


Words change everything

by Lee but spelt Li (twostepsforward)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, FP Jones II/Fred Andrews if you squint, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Sickness, Vomiting, Young FP Jones II, Young Fred Andrews, abusive FP Jones' dad, highschool!parents, poor FP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twostepsforward/pseuds/Lee%20but%20spelt%20Li
Summary: ''It was quiet as the world stopped spinning, as the world stopped turning. It was all silent.''16-year-old FP Jones is a mess. His abusive father is messing with his head, his bad habits are getting the better of him and he's slowly giving up. But Fred Andrews offers the support that FP desperately needs.





	Words change everything

**Author's Note:**

> Ayy. This is my first published fanfic on this account. I really love young!FP and that stuff so I saw this as a good opportunity. I was originally talking to my friend about alcohol abuse as a teenager for FP and what it would be like so I came up with this. Anyways; enjoy!  
> -Lilac.

FP had had a really, really bad night. His dad had screamed at him for every reason under the sun: he was too lazy, he wouldn't get anywhere, he was a horrible son, his grades weren't good, and just for no reason. They had such a strained relationship that FP just expected it at this point. He expected the screaming and the hitting and how it affected him. FP managed just to turn off his emotions and take it as it came. He'd given up crying, he'd given up fighting back. Being honest? He'd given up. He felt so alone; a dad who hated him and fake friends. It was scary and he vowed to always be there for his kids once he grew up, no matter what. 

Then there was the alcohol. The alcohol addiction had arisen once he found out that alcohol could make him feel floaty, make him feel warm and make him forget everything. Usually, he wouldn't have too much, just enough to feel okay. But tonight, tonight was different. FP had a vodka bottle stashed under his bed, alongside a whisk bottle and a bottle of gin. There was an abundance of beer and various liquors in the kitchen too. FP's dad also tended to drink so there always seemed to be some form of alcohol lying around. He'd slowly collected bottles from his dad for this very night. The night when he needed them most; that was tonight.

Once he was completely sure his dad was asleep, he grabbed whatever alcohol was under his bed and took it downstairs. Downstairs he got three cans of beer and a few shots ready. Yes, this was going to be a good night. He took the shots first, then the beer and then started on the vodka. He got about three-quarters of the way through that before he started to feel unwell. He'd reached warm and floaty just after the shots but now he just felt gross. He took a breath and shakily tried to stand up. He was so dizzy on his feet he could have passed out then and there. He attempted to clean the mess he made and then brought the remaining vodka, whisky and gin into his room. 

It was quiet as the world stopped spinning, as the world stopped turning. It was all silent. FP passed out. He just managed to get to his bed. It wasn't until 8 am that he woke up. The harsh light aggressively shone through the window and FP groaned. He reached for the vodka he had left and downed it. His head felt fuzzy and warm as he did so, but his throat burned. He scrambled to sit up, the movement accentuating all the pain he felt. Once again had he drunk on an empty stomach, so it hurt more and he felt even more drunk. He momentarily considered taking the gin in a water bottle to school but if he got caught, it would be suspension and school was his only safe space. He attempted to pull on a light shirt, his bulldogs' jacket and some jeans. It was hard but he managed, along with some shoes. He stood up after putting his shoes on and his head felt like someone had stabbed it. He grabbed his bag, walked past his dad's room and saw no one, as per usual. FP splashed some water on his face and left. He was late and he knew it but he didn't care. 

He left, stumbling out of the house and trying to stay conscious. It wasn't too far to Riverdale High but it felt like miles. Each step was another stab of pain, of grief and guilt. The number of times FP stopped to help his head or make sure he didn't puke were uncountable. He was surprised he even made it in time to start the first period. It was biology. Usually, FP loved biology but as he walked into class to get verbally assaulted by his bio teacher, he didn't.

''What the hell, Mr Jones? What time do you call this!'' Mr Downshire exclaimed as FP took a seat at the back.

''Uhh.... 9 o'clock,'' FP uttered in a hushed tone. The screaming was really hurting his head.  
''Don't give me that cheek, Jones. Detention. Lunchtime. Tomorrow.'' Mr Downshire had actually let him off easy, he wasn't one to tolerate truancy.

FP really couldn't be bothered with whatever they were talking about, he was fazing in and out of consciousness. He was terrified of passing out during class. He groaned into his arm and he didn't realise that Fred, one of his only friends, was staring at him. Fred was concerned but he'd seen FP like this before. 

As the lesson dragged on, everything got worse. His sensitivity to light increased so much he couldn't even look up. His headache and dizziness were so bad he was surprised he hadn't collapsed yet. His nausea was slowly increasing too, his stomach had started to hurt too. By the end of the period, FP couldn't even consider going to PE. He was shaking and clammy all over.

''FP! FP!'' Fred called after him. But FP just groaned in response and turned around.

''F, what happened?'' Fred asked even though he already knew.

''Don't fell well,'' FP muttered as he suppressed a gag. Fred didn't respond but handed him a bottle of water.

''I know you're hungover, it's not like I've not seen you like this before-'' Fred said. ''But this seems worse,'' he added. FP ignored him and just down the water. He was much more thirsty than he had imagined. Alcohol can really dehydrated you, huh?

''I'm okay, Fred, really,'' FP replied in an exceptionally monotone way. Then his legs gave out.

''FP!'' Fred shouted and managed to just catch him before he hit the ground. ''We're going home. I have the car.''

''Your house, right?'' FP asked as Fred hauled him up.

''Yes, my house. The nurse's office first though because I don't want detention.''

The journey to the nurse was longer and more stressful than it needed to be. FP had to create an excuse that had nothing to do with alcohol. As they got closer, he panicked a little more as he practically had no clue. And then Fred knocked. 'Fuck. Shit' FP thought silently as Fred continued to almost completely hold him up. 

''Come ahead in,'' a sweet voice called from inside. Nurse Maybin. She greeted the boys with a smile as Fred sat FP down. ''What's wrong, Forsythe?'' She asked, immediately knowing it was him who needed medical attention.

''Oh uhh... I just haven't been sleeping well at all really, I have quite a bad headache and also I'm nauseous,'' FP lied. Well, it wasn't quite a lie but it wasn't a full truth. He just hoped the nurse couldn't smell the blatantly obvious alcohol off his breath. She was sweet and kind and really lovable, but she was gullible. She completely bought it.

''Ah I see, Mr Jones. I'm just going to recommend going home. Maybe Mr Andrews, here, could take you? And I'll inform your next teachers that you won't be back. I do hope you feel better,'' Nurse Maybin said. FP had hoped that she would let Fred take him home. Most of the teachers knew about the father situations at home with both  
of them. FP's abusive dad and Fred's extremely ill dad.

''I'd happily take him home, I have a car anyway,'' Fred replied. The nurse smiled at them and wrote down in her book who had come to see her.

Now, it was Fred's job to haul FP to the car and to make sure he didn't puke in the lovely interior. They managed to get out of school without any incidents but as they got closer to the car, FP's eyes started to glaze over even more. Fred didn't panic, not this time, he just held him tighter and bundled him into the front of his car and he got in the other side. The ride was only around 6 or 7 minutes but the movement of the car made FP want to puke.

'' 'm don't feel good,'' FP mumbled, slurring his words as he practically fell out of the car. He'd gotten this far, no point on giving up now.

''I know, buddy, I know,'' Fred whispered at FP. He tried to slow down at least a little but it was to no avail. FP still felt extremely motion sick, a feeling he never usually felt.

By the time they arrived back at Fred's, FP was breathing so heavily and walking so clumsily that Fred half carried him inside. FP looked so unwell; his eyes were blood-shot, his  
lips were dry and he was a ghostly pale. Fred's immediate thought was to get him to a bathroom before he throws up, but the realisation that that would be nearly impossible washed over him. FP was in no state to move, really. The possibility of passing out again was extremely high.

''Take a seat on the couch, I'll get you water,'' Fred said. ''And a bucket.''

FP did as instructed too. It felt nice to sit down in a non-moving place. He began to notice that he was shaking; what another lovely hangover symptom. Generally, FP felt awful. From a headache and dizziness to the stomach ache and nausea, FP just wanted it to stop. The negative thoughts began to rush in too, and the previous night played in his head. Honestly, the thought of the night before, made him feel sicker. He gagged openly and hoped for Fred to hurry back. As he was waiting, he groaned. His stomach was really starting to hurt. 

Just before FP could ask, Fred spoke: ''Do you want any toast or crackers?'' 

FP just nodded before he spoke. ''Crackers,'' he managed out. He could barely talk for the nausea flooding his system. He just wanted to sleep.

It only took a minute more for Fred to come back. He had a grey bucket, a glass of water and some saltine crackers. FP smiled slowly because, despite the sickness, he was certainly hungry. The thought of Fred helping and taking care of him washed over his mind for the first time. He didn't mind it, actually. He hadn't felt this level of love in quite a while, so it actually felt quite nice. Shaking the thought, he took a cracker and Fred sat beside him. Fred began to scroll through DVDs, there were so many different ones to chose from. As he was about to turn to FP to ask what he wanted, he heard him gag. He turned his head quickly to see FP hunched over the bucket.

''Shit, FP-'' Fred murmured. He started to rub FP's back as he started to throw up.

FP had literally only had alcohol in the past 12 hours, so that was all that came up. It burned his throat and made him cough. He gagged a few more times but nothing came up. He hurt literally all over. His head, his stomach, his throat. Literally everything. FP shuddered and fell backwards.

''How are you feeling?'' Fred asked, noticeable concern.

''Water,'' FP croaked out

''Slowly,'' Fred warned as FP took the glass. 

FP heeded the warning and took small sips. Halfway through the glass, FP's eyes began to droop. He was exhausted. Completely exhausted. Fred smiled and gestured to set the glass down and for FP to lie down. FP obliged anything to sleep. To be honest, his eyes fell closed as soon as he fell back onto the pillow. Fred smiled to himself as he took the bucket into the kitchen for cleaning, he was thinking about how FP had gone through so much. About how he didn't deserve the abuse he got. Fred, still thinking about FP, made himself a sandwich and want back to the living room. He saw FP. Asleep, FP looked so calm and peaceful and... happy? Despite the pallor of his skin, it made Fred happy to see him untroubled. Content, Fred sat down beside FP. Now, we just wait for him to wake up and hope he's ok.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this all at 3 am, it's literally almost 4. Help.  
> Anyway! Comments and suggestions are really appreciated.


End file.
